


Behind These Eyes

by Fabulouis



Category: Union J (Band)
Genre: F/M, Hospitals, London, Recovery, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabulouis/pseuds/Fabulouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After trying to end her life, Nicholai wakes up in a children's hospital completely confused and out of it. The next day a semi-famous boyband riding off of their X-Factor experience, visit the hospital and one member in particular shows keen to Olai.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind These Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Don't read this if you get triggered easily!!! This contains some self harm and reader descression is adviced!! Only for this chapter though.

Pain.

 

Not always physical but tremenously emotional. Sometimes nothing is even said. All the looks of disgust and hatred don't seem to be giving me a glimmer of hope inside. They don't make me feel welcome, especially when I get about thirty in a row as I walk down the hallways of my high school. I'm senior with only a few months until I escape this hell I'm forced to inhabit with a couple thousand demons every day.

 

To say there are a few nicer demons is like saying only half of the famous singers use autotune. In case you were wondering, they all do. All of the demons at my school seem to hate me for some unknown reason. Unless a glare means you're excepted into society then I'm at the bottom of the food chain regardless of my seniority. It's not like I've ever said anything to them to make them hate me, I never say anything. Ever.

 

School passes with words thrown at me like daggers aimed to kill. Their tongues, unruly in their mouths, spoke slivers of synonyms of hatred, pausing only to catch their breaths. Teachers were no better. Being used to my silence they all seem to ignore me completely and pretend I don't exsist, except for Mr. Richards. He calls on me nonetheless with my silence. He makes fun of me in class but no one reports him because who would help the mute kid when you can just get a free laugh?

 

No one ever hurts me physically minus these three senior guys. One used to be my best friend, but oviously not anymore. Things change, people change. The three of them normally push me down on the ground and get a few kicks in here and there. Maybe a punch or two if they're feeling extra generous. Today was one of those days.

 

Eric, Leo and Jacob.

 

Jacob Wolff, he used to be my bestfriend as children. 

 

Their kicks didn't hurt though. Nothing hurt anymore. Over the years I had gone numb. It kind of started when I stopped talking to people. Jacob's kicks and punches didn't hurt anymore than the other two's. I laid there limp on the ground as they performed their quotidian ritual.

 

Once they stopped for the day I got up and dusted off my legs. Once I had done a quick routine check of myself I started for the house. I took my time getting through the busy streets of London, but it wasn't like I could move much faster than everyone else. Checking my wristwatch every few minutes I hurried it up a bit. Karen doesn't like it when I'm too late.

 

When I get to my house my cheeks are red and my nose is cold. Not bringing a jacket this morning was something I was regretting due to the brisk London air. It wasn't but a bit past four when I slipped through the front door. Smells of dinner cooking were already filtering through the house and I figured I had about thirty minutes, give or take a few, until it was completely ready. 

 

In my room I dropped my bag down and abandoned it for the warmth of my jacket that laid on my desk chair. I let it envelop me in the cloth confinds of its embrace. With my newlyfound warmth I set down to finish the drawing I had started the night before.

 

You see, I don't express myself through words. I use art.

 

It seemed like I just began to draw when there was a knock on the door. "Dinner's ready Nicholai. Better hurry before it gets too cold," Karen called through the oak. I hate being called by my whole name. Nicholai didn't really sound appealling anymore, it did at one time. I much prefer Nicki or Nick or even Olai, but no one's called me that in years.

 

********(Her name is pronounced Nick-oh-lie and the nickname would be uh-lie) Okay, bye!*********

 

Karen McClaury is a sweet, middle-aged woman who takes care of me. She was born in Ireland but moved here when she was 19 and still has a strong Irish timbre in her voice. 

 

I do as she wishes and I go to the kitchen. The smell of cooked meat and what I believe to be asparagus fill the room, leading me to the table and setting me down to feast on the derivement of the smells themselves. I start to dig into the assortment before me and pay no mind to the sound of the other chair scuttling against the floor, Karen taking the seat across her.

 

"How was your day today, Nicholai?"

 

I don't answer her. I act as though I didn't hear her vocalize her thoughts. I just continue to eat my vegetables. She knows I won't respond to her anyways.

 

"Did you have a nice day today?" There we go.

 

I raise my right hand that has the word 'yes' written on it even though it was the complete opposite. This is how I communicate with Karen, we get by on yes or no questions. The 'no' is on my left hand and I make sure to keep them both legable so I'm constantly going over the harsh sharpied lines with another layer, at least that's what Karen thinks. When in reality, I went in one day and got them tattooed on my hands so that I'd stop wasting ink and so now they're permanently there. Inked into forever with a few others.

 

"Have you made any new friends?"

Left hand, no.

 

She sighs audiable. "Do you have any homework tonight?"

Right hand, yes.

 

"After dinner do you want to watch a program with me?

Left hand, no.

 

"Why not?

 

Silence. By this time I've finished my food and actually lifted my head to look at her tired face. Her dark brown eyes contrasted by her pale skin that constantly rosey. The bags under her eyes are evident from her long years. Today her hair's pulled back minus the bits that have fallen off and hang solemnly by her ears. Hard years of work have made her age past her years.

 

"Your turn for dishes, Nicholai. Remember not to wash the big pot in the dish washer. It has to be cleaned by hand."

Right hand, yes.

 

Dinner ended shortly after and Karen had left to watch something on the telly while I stayed in the kitchen, looking at a sink full of dishes that weren't going to wash themselves. I   
began with putting all the clean cups away whilst my mind wandered. 

 

Why do I live this lonely life? Why do I continue to let everyone treat me like this? How come I never fight back against the trio of boys? How come I never tell anyone about them? Why doesn't anyone care about me? Why am I all alone here? Why did I have to be the only one here now? Why wasn't I with them?

 

By then I was crying silently with tears completing marathons down my check as I put away the silverware.

 

Why must I be so stubborn? Why must I not talk? How does Karen put up with me for this long? How come I'm not like everyone else? Why must I be different? Why must my life be shit? Why must I live like this? What is there to live for? Why am I alive? 

 

Suddenly it hit me. There is always an escape.

 

No! My left hand shot up with a force that didn't feel like my own. I knew I was wrong but I reached down anyways and picked up one of the clean knives that I hadn't put up yet. I hid it underneath my jumper that was two sizes too big with enough room to carry a few things in it. This is my way out, I told myself. A way to end all this pain.

 

I finished up the dishes and made my way up to my room with the knife cleverly concealed beneath my clothing. I closed my bedroom door and quietly locked it so there wouldn't be any interuptions. This had to be done.

 

No one would care if I didn't show up at school tomorrow. They'll probably be happy even.

 

I took the knife out and sat on the edge of my bed with my legs dangling over the edge. I bring up my left hand purposefully. No for all the friends I have no; none. No for all the nice things I've been told or heard about me; no. No for all the times I've stood up for myself; none. No for all the times I've loved myself; none. No, my left hand.

 

I lay the blade against my tender skin and hold it there for a moment as I let the effect of actions filter out of my mind. I'm going to do this. I have to.

 

The blade slowly pierces through my fragile skin and opaque crimson leaks out. I press harder and more flows out as I start to move the knife up my arm to the crease of my elbow. It's like painting on the canvas that is my skin with paint that is my blood. Sketching in pain.

 

Pain.

 

I don't cry.

 

Who would I cry for? Myself? Left hand.

 

Who would I cry to? Karen? Left hand.

 

How are you to cry over something you shouldn't remember? Something that wasn't supposed to happen? Something you couldn't control? Simple, you can't.

 

I'm alone in this world of changing faces and hidden agendas. I have nowhere to go or to look forward to. No one will know what's wrong with me. No one cares. I don't care.

 

I press harder against my flesh with the assailant as things start to dim. I lose all ability of consciousness and my last thought is I hope I never wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> Dun dun dun!!!  
> Sorry for the dressing beginning of this story. It doesn't stay this way for very much longer. In case you were wondering, this story is a fan fiction but not about One Direction. No, it's about Union J.  
> I want to let everybody know that some things that'll happen are based off of my life experiences. The depression and thoughts of being alone are what Ive experienced for a while now. Last week I was diagnosed with clinical depression due to an anxiety disorder I have. I'm already showing signs of improvement though. :)  
> On a very serious note I wanna say that you. are. not. alone. Even when you feel like no one's there for you know that there is always someone. It'll get better, always. It's happening for me and it can happen for you too!  
> If you ever need me feel free to PM me anytime.  
> I love you!  
> Hope you like this story so far even though I didn't really give you that much but I hope you come back and read more.  
> Bye wonders!!


End file.
